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Mortimer the Scruffy Cat
Mortimer, a ragged sight,
With fur like straw and eyes so bright.
His tail’s a mop, his whiskers bent,
He smells like socks with a strange old scent.
He struts around like he’s the king,
Despite the burrs and fleas that cling.
His meow’s a croak, his purr’s a wheeze,
He sneezes loud and startles trees.
But still, he’s loved—yes, through and through,
Though he looks like he fought a broom (and lost too).
Mortimer, you scruffy beast,
Reigning champ of the fish-can feast!